Riven stood ready in a combat pose at the edge of a rectangular field, where sparse patches of grass—both dead and alive—dotted the ground. Across from him, on the other end of the field, stood a boy around fifteen years old. He had tanned skin, sandy blonde hair, and a heavily toned physique. Standing an impressive six feet three inches tall, the boy gripped a wooden training spear with practiced ease.
"Are both of you ready?" called a man standing at the center edge of the field, his voice cutting through the tension. He glanced between the two combatants, his gaze sharp and commanding.
Riven clenched his fists, his mind racing as he strategized for the upcoming spar against Jayce. I'll need to get close if I want to do any real damage, he thought, lowering his stance and steadying his breathing.
The referee scrutinized them one final time before raising his hand high and shouting, "Start!"
Riven closed his eyes briefly, reaching deep within himself to tap into an ethereal reservoir of mana—a glowing ball of blue energy stored in his core. The energy surged forward like a rushing tide, spreading through his body, flooding his blood vessels, and seeping into his very skin. With practiced precision, he condensed the remainder of the mana, watching as its hue shifted from blue to a vibrant purple. He directed the energy toward his glutes and tendons, preparing for explosive movement.
The ground sank beneath his feet, leaving two clear imprints as he launched himself forward with blinding speed. Jayce's eyes widened in shock, caught off guard by Riven's raw ferocity and agility. He fumbled to lower his spear, attempting to create distance, but Riven had already closed the gap.
Riven's momentum carried him forward as his feet dug an inch into the ground to stabilize his strike. Pivoting, he drove his left palm upward, aiming directly at Jayce's solar plexus. The satisfying crack of impact echoed across the field as his strike connected. Jayce's body was sent hurtling backward, careening toward the stone wall bordering the arena.
Before Jayce could collide with the wall, the referee was already there, moving with startling speed. The man caught the boy mid-air, cradling him effortlessly. He turned toward Riven with an amused smile, nodding once in acknowledgment before declaring, "The winner is Riven Stormbrand!" His voice carried authority, silencing the murmurs around the field.
Without hesitation, the referee carried Jayce, who struggled to catch his breath, toward the healer's station. Meanwhile, Riven stood motionless, allowing the mana coursing through his body to dissipate. He knew this wasn't the proper way to handle mana—one should guide it back inward—but his naturally pure mana reserves meant he expended only a small fraction. It had become a bad habit to let the remaining energy escape into the air, though it was undeniably faster.
Still, I should fix that, Riven thought as he straightened up and began walking toward the healer's station.
By the time he arrived, Jayce was already on his feet, stretching as though he hadn't just been flung across the field. He grinned at Riven and said, "I wanted to see if the rumors were true. That much power from a zero-rank, recently awakened? Pretty insane."
Riven shrugged casually. "It is what it is," he replied, his tone nonchalant.
Jayce accepted the response with a chuckle, then shifted topics. "Are you ready for the exam tomorrow?"
Riven's lips curled into a wide grin, enough to make Jayce slightly uneasy. "Yep," Riven said confidently. "I'm ready to crush it."
Jayce nodded and gestured toward a nearby window carved into the arena's stone walls. The sun was setting, its golden rays fading into the horizon, painting the sky in hues of orange and purple. Riven's grin faltered as he remembered he had to get home before nightfall—a family dinner with his extended relatives awaited, and being late was not an option.
"Ah, crap!" he muttered, waving hastily at Jayce. "See you tomorrow—I've gotta go!"
Without waiting for a response, Riven sprinted toward the arena's exit, weaving between the other training fields. All around him, matches continued, each with its own referee overseeing the combatants. His footsteps echoed as he dashed through the complex, his mind already shifting to what awaited him at home.
Fortunately, Riven's house wasn't far from the local arena. He dashed through the dimly lit streets, weaving between pedestrians and beasts alike. A few people glared at his back, cursing as he narrowly avoided collisions. As he ran, the lamps lining the cobblestone streets began to light up one by one, casting long shadows in their wake. He knew that when the lamp near his house lit up, it would mark the beginning of the evening—a deadline he couldn't afford to miss.
With no other option, Riven smirked and reached inward, focusing on the dense ball of ethereal energy buried deep within his being. This time, instead of simply drawing from it, he plunged his metaphysical hand deeper, past the outer layers, and into the third. A stream of shimmering, dark pink energy surged forth, its sheer force threatening to overwhelm him.
But Riven wasn't inexperienced. He had honed his control over this energy ever since his soul awakened earlier in the year. Gritting his teeth, he manipulated the wild energy, weaving and compressing it with the techniques drilled into him by his instructors. Once it was under control, he channeled the majority of the energy into his legs and eyes.
The moment the energy settled, Riven became a blur. He shot down the streets with astonishing speed and precision. His enhanced vision caught glimpses of the lamps flickering to life as they chased his progress. I'll beat them—no matter what, he thought, his focus locked ahead. He couldn't risk splitting his attention; the last thing he needed was to accidentally collide with someone.
As he neared the end of the street, the bronze door of his home came into view. Its intricate carving of his family crest—a raven perched atop a stack of tomes, flanked by runes—stood out even in the dim light. Renewing his effort, Riven poured the last reserves of energy into his sprint and leaped toward the door.
Mid-air, a realization struck him. Wait… how am I going to stop myself?!
Panic gripped him as he braced for impact. Transferring the pink energy to his upper body, he positioned his arms to absorb the shock. But just as he was about to collide with the door, he felt… nothing. Suspended a meter above the ground, Riven opened his eyes, confusion etched on his face. He glanced around frantically, trying to make sense of his situation.
"An impressive feat of power," a voice called from behind, calm yet laced with authority. "But I'll have to give you a zero for execution."
Slowly, Riven felt himself being pulled back, reoriented until his feet touched the ground. The unseen force vanished, leaving him steady but unnerved. His mind raced. That was telekinesis. And a strong one at that. But who—
Turning around, Riven froze. An old man stood before him, his long silver hair and beard flowing in the gentle breeze. He wore flowing robes embossed with golden patterns that formed intricate designs, the craftsmanship speaking of wealth and status. In his hands rested a cane made of polished redwood, its handle wrapped in silver leather for comfort.
It didn't take long for Riven to notice the crest emblazoned on the cane: the unmistakable emblem of House Nebulous. The silver design—a raven perched atop tomes, flanked by runes—marked the man as a member of the outer branch of his mother's family.
Riven coughed nervously and extended his hand. "Welcome, Grandfather," he said, his voice betraying his unease.
The old man chuckled softly and lifted his hand from the cane to shake Riven's. The moment their hands met, Riven felt as if a torrent of water had slammed into him, the weight of the elder's mana pressing down with overwhelming force. Instinctively, Riven's own mana surged in response, dark pink energy flooding his body to counteract the pressure. It eased just enough for him to speak.
"It's good to see you," Riven managed, his voice strained. "Please, let me show you in."
The old man withdrew his hand and offered a small, amused smile. "Very well. Let's go."
Riven exhaled in relief and rang the bell beside the gate. Almost instantly, a black blur appeared inches from his face. A metallic glint caught his eye before the shape vanished as quickly as it had come.
The bronze doors creaked open, revealing a stone pathway winding through a meticulously maintained garden. At the end of the path stood a large wooden building, its warm light spilling out onto the cobblestones.
At the entrance, a man in leather armor adorned with metal plates guarding his vitals stood at attention. His posture was calm but alert, his sharp gaze fixed on the old man. From the shadows cast by the lamplight, another figure emerged. At first, it appeared as a formless blob, but as it stepped forward, its features sharpened.
A five-foot-tall raven with jet-black feathers and glowing purple vortexes for eyes strode into view. The creature's presence was commanding, its gaze unblinking as it regarded the elder.
"Father, I found Grandfather on the way," Riven said, gesturing toward the old man behind him.
Riven's father turned his head toward him, his stern gaze sharp enough to cut steel. With a reprimanding tone, he said, "You're late. Go get ready. I'll escort our guest inside."
Riven shivered under the weight of his father's intense stare. Quickly, he stammered, "Sorry, Grandfather. I'll see you in a bit." Without waiting for a response, he hurried down a stone path that veered to the left, leading to another wooden building. This one was slightly smaller but exuded warmth and life with illuminated windows and lamps scattered along its exterior.
Riven burst through the wooden door and darted toward his room at the back of the ground floor. On the way, he caught his mother's disapproving glare as she stood near the sitting area by a plush, red velvet couch. The silent reprimand made him quicken his pace.
Once in his room, Riven sifted through the pile of clothes strewn across his bed, which sat slightly to the left of the center of the room. Finally, he found the formal attire his mother had chosen for him a week ago. Dressing hurriedly, he fought to control his strength, mindful not to rip the delicate fabric. The room itself was modest—a pair of mahogany cabinets lined the wall opposite the bed, and a small rectangular dresser with a large mirror stood in the far corner. Between them was a wooden door leading to the bathroom.
After putting on his attire, Riven approached the mirror, attempting to tame his unruly hair. His jet-black locks, long and spiky, refused to settle no matter how much he fussed. The result was a chaotic mop of darkness framing two sapphire-blue eyes that stared back at him.
Not enough time for a bath, he thought with a resigned sigh. It would only get him into more trouble. Abandoning the effort, he left his room and made his way to the sitting area, where his mother waited.
"Good. You're ready," she said, rising gracefully from the couch. She was a woman in her early forties, draped in a traditional red silk robe and accented with a fluffy white scarf. "Let's go."
Riven gave a small nod and trailed after her as she exited the building, heading toward the central one.
Inside, Riven found his father and grandfather seated on opposite sides of a large rectangular wooden table. Before them sat cups of steaming green tea in elegant, premium china. His mother took her place on the right side of the table, speaking with polite warmth. "Good to see you, Father. I hope the journey wasn't too difficult."
Riven hesitated, then sat across from his mother, careful to position himself closer to his father—away from his grandfather's oppressive presence. Sitting nearby was another figure: the head of one of the branch families of the Liren's, a powerful noble house with significant legislative sway in the eastern parts of the Fulcrum Empire.
Grandfather's aura is overwhelming, Riven thought, his throat dry. He's at least Rank four. No wonder just his presence felt like it could crush me.
The tension in the room thickened as Riven's father stared intently at his grandfather. The atmosphere eased slightly when a servant dressed in a black uniform wheeled in a cart laden with an assortment of dishes—everything from steaming noodles to richly spiced meats. The servant distributed portions carefully, and the scent of the food filled the room.
Breaking the silence, Riven's grandfather fixed his piercing gaze on him and spoke. "I've come with a simple message. You've piqued my interest, Riven. It's not every day a grandson of mine unlocks a flickering soul. I'm offering you a seat on the inner council of our branch family, but only after you reach Rank four and contract with a beast. Until then, we'll provide resources and tutors to help you hone your abilities."
As the words hung in the air, Riven's father shot to his feet, his chair screeching against the floor. His voice was tight with restrained anger. "We agreed your family would not interfere with ours. Or have you forgotten?"
"Yes, but I'm merely extending an offer," the old man replied calmly, stroking his silver beard. "I'm not the only one interested. Nobles from other houses are already courting him. Just today, I saw him practicing with Jayce Treyarch of House Treyarch. I am simply making my position known in person. Nothing more."
Riven's father clenched his fists, but before the tension could spiral further, Riven's mother intervened. "It's Riven's decision. We'll wait for his answer. But for now, let's enjoy the meal."
Her words defused the standoff, and the family turned their focus to the meal, eating in tense silence.
Later, as Grandfather prepared to leave, he bid a formal farewell. Stepping outside, his body shimmered with a shroud of purple energy, and he lifted into the air, disappearing into the distance.
Riven watched in awe. That's definitely telekinesis. His beasts must have an exalted bloodline—or at least a rare greater one.
A cough from his father drew Riven's attention. "It's your life, but I advise you to stay away from the noble families," his father said, his tone grave.
Riven nodded absently, his mind already on the upcoming soul tournament. The top five competitors could bond with beasts of greater bloodlines—an opportunity too rare to pass up.
"I'll head to bed," he muttered, following his mother back to the house. As he glanced over his shoulder, he noticed his father still standing at the entrance of the guest building, staring into the night with a troubled expression.
Tomorrow is a big day, Riven thought, steeling his resolve. I'll make it to the top five. No matter what.